


Diamond in the Rough

by thekingslover



Category: Aladdin (2019), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Aladdin AU, Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Redemption, Starvation, Temporary Character Death, yusuf is jafar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:54:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25516852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekingslover/pseuds/thekingslover
Summary: Yusuf suffered for five years in a Sherebad prison, where he died again and again.Now he is free, and he will have his revenge. No one, not even the kind-eyed man from his dreams, will stop him.OrThe Aladdin 2019 AU no one asked for.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, minor andy/quynh
Comments: 60
Kudos: 647





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I tried not to write this but it was too much fun.
> 
> Visit my nickyjoe tumblr sideblog [monicashipsnickyjoe](https://monicashipsnickyjoe.tumblr.com/) or my main blog [thekingslover](https://thekingslover.tumblr.com/) to say hi :)

Yusuf claws at the stone walls of his cell until his fingers bleed. He can’t see in the total darkness, but blood oozes hot streaks down his palms. He’s lost his nails.

He has no food or water. Beyond his walls, he hears screams. Begging. Whimpering. Then silence.

His throat is raw. His stomach twists, raging against him. If only he had something, anything, to eat, but there’s only dirt beneath him. When he tried, the grit did little to ease the crippling pain, begging him for food.

Hours, days, or weeks pass. He cannot tell. He is losing himself in the darkness. It won’t be long.

Soon, he knows, he will die.

Here, in this Sherebad prison, locked away for being a thief. For choosing to live when the world dictated that he whither.

He knows now he only succeeded in suspending the inevitable.

In the end, after his screaming turns to begging turns to whimpering turns to silence, he curls around himself in the dirt and waits for death.

He closes his eyes. He takes his last breath.

Forgotten. Alone.

He awakes again, breath sucking in sharply. His heart thunders. He’d scream, but his throat is too dry. Instead he coughs up blood. And he dies again.

Awake. Dead.

Again and again.

Awake, he cries. What is happening to him? Is this the hell he’s meant for? To stay in the dark. To be lost. Forgotten. Abandoned.

Dead, he dreams. Two women sit side by side at a campfire, across from a man wearing a red cross on his chest.

“He needs us,” the man says, in a language both foreign and familiar.

“We don’t know where he is,” one woman says. She looks at her female companion. “Quynh, what have you seen?”

Quynh shakes her head, long hair tumbling over her shoulders. “Only darkness. Despair.” She pauses. The fire reflects in her eyes. “Hatred.”

“We must find him, Andromache,” the man says. “Soon.”

“If you have a plan, Nicolo,” Andromache says, “I am ready to listen.”

Yusuf gasps to life once more, leaving the fireside and returning to darkness. He writhes in pain, starving again. He’s losing his mind, he’s certain. Dreaming of phantoms. Of warmth. Of understanding and patience and kindness.

People like that do not exist.

As he dies again, pain shaking through him, he vows.

The world will regret what it has done to him.

The next time he awakes, he is face down in a pile of refuse, outside the city walls, cast out among garbage and bodies. The sunlight burns him. He crawls away on his elbows, his hands a bloody, dirty mess. He dies a few times in his trek across the sand.

But he is free.

And now, no matter what, he will have his revenge.

*

Nicolo startles awake. Every breath an effort. Each heartbeat too loud, too strong. He places his hand to his chest to remind himself he’s alive. This is his own heart. His own chest.

Not a dream. Not anymore.

Andy and Quynh are there, across the burnt-out campfire. They jolted as he did. The ghosts in their eyes tell him that they woke not from him, but as he did, from their shared dream.

It was him again.

Not the first of Nicolo’s dreams of him, but only the last as they’ve grow increasingly more vivid. And dire.

He has killed again, in his thirst for power. But this time he has done so outside.

Nicolo, too young yet, immortal only for a handful of years, could not recognize the place. His companions, however...

They glance at each other. Quynh nods.

“Agrabah,” Andy says.

Nicolo shakes his head, unfamiliar.

They pay him no mind.

Quynh presses her lips together in a hard line before she speaks, “Genies, again.”

Nicolo blinks. They are not speaking his native language. Surely, he has mistranslated.

Andy places a hand over Quynh’s on her knee. She speaks quickly. Nicolo can only discern certain words like, “Safe place,” and Nicolo’s name. “I’ll go for him alone.”

“No!” Nicolo pushes himself up his knees. He will not be left behind for this, not after what he felt in those... _nightmares_.

The past five years have been torture. He has felt their dreamer's humiliation and desperation. His hunger. He was chained in the dark and left there, forgotten. There was no dream from before. That prison was where he had been left to die and instead been immortally reborn.

The torture bred hatred. Pain. The overwhelming desire to never feel that small again. No matter the cost.

“He’ll need us all,” Nicolo says.

Andy glances at him, not exactly in surprise, more... consideration.

“He’s become a villain,” Quynh says to him, slowly, as if Nicolo does not understand.

Nicolo had seen it, too. In their dreamer’s desperation for power, he’s sacrificed. And he’s taken.

“He can be redeemed,” Nicolo says.

Andy tilts her head. “And if he can’t?”

Nicolo swallows hard. He has no answer. There is no answer to give. Their dreamer will be redeemed. No other option matters.

Quynh offers him a small smile. “Well, we’ll have a very long time to convince him, if he needs.” Her smile softens as she looks to Andy. “He is one of us, after all.”

Andy hums, non-committal either way.

“He is ours,” Nicolo says with conviction. “I will not abandon him.”

Andy looks at him and sighs. Nicolo thinks that she needs more convincing, but Quynh sees something in her face that Nicolo has not yet learned to.

“To Agrabah, then?” Quynh asks.

Andy reaches and brushes the hair from Quynh’s cheek to behind her ear. The moment is soft, and Nicolo, not for the first time, feels an intruder. “And the genies?”

“We survived it once,” Quynh says, leaning into Andy’s hand.

Nicolo drops his gaze. He rolls up his bedroll and prepares his horse. When they join him, he waits.

Andy nods. “To Agrabah.”

They travel. It takes too long. They must cross the world.

By the time they walk through the gates of Agrabah, their dreamer has named himself Jafar and risen to Grand Vizier, second only to the Sultan. Nicolo has tasted Jafar’s power-lust. He knows second is not enough.

But Nicolo has also been learning. Andy and Quynh have spent every morning until dusk teaching him the language of Agrabah. He struggles to enunciate properly, his accent tripping his tongue, but by the end of their journey, he understands well and can speak well enough.

They stop to stable their horses and refill their water canteens. Then they press off again, through the city.

The marketplace bustles with shifting crowds and colorful goods. Thieves, too. Nicolo keeps a steady hand over his pockets. Though as he spots a dirty child no more than five or six begging for coin on a street corner, Nicolo lets a few bits of gold slip into the child’s waiting hands. As he does so, he feels more coin being lifted from his pockets. He makes no move to stop them.

Quynh chides him when he returns to their side. “This is why you don’t hold the money.”

They continue through the city until the streets open to a wide promenade and beyond, the towering walls of the palace. A set of great doors block their path.

They stand for a time, staring up at the gleaming gold that cap the towers and the walls. Nicolo has no idea how to scale them, as straight and slick as they seem. Eventually, the guards start to goad them and they are forced to move on.

“He’s in there,” Nicolo insists, following Andy and Quynh as they move to the shadow of an alley.

“We can’t just knock,” Andy tells him. Crossing her arms, she leans against the side of a building.

In the distance, a faint rumble. Beside them, a mountain of spice topples, shaking with the ground.

“Do you hear that?” Nicolo says.

“Oh, no.” Andy kicks off the wall. She holds her hand out for Quynh, who takes it.

“Not again,” Quynh says.

“What?” Nicolo asks, not understanding. “What is it?”

“Watch,” Andy tells him.

They wait, as others do, lining each side of the street as a parade begins. It’s a grand spectacle of drums and dancers, of golden camels and exotic animals. An elephant waltzes by, each footstep a thunder, and then, behind, riding a float of brilliant flowers, a prince.

Andy catches the eye of one of the prince’s servants, a man who sings the many praises of Prince Ali. She angles her head, beckoning him toward the alley.

“Follow me,” Andy tells Nicolo, and he does, turning from the spectacle to the relative quiet of the alleyway. The servant, inexplicably, is already waiting there for them. Nicolo glances back to the parade, where the servant is there, too, still singing.

Impossible. But then so is reviving after death. He keeps his mouth shut.

“Andromache,” the servant says. No, not a servant. Not really, not when Nicolo looks closer. There is something otherworldly about this man, and not just in his brightly tailored fashion. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“That kid,” Andy glances at the prince as the float passes. “How is he?”

“He’s alright.” The servant lifts one shoulder. “Different than the usual.”

Andy looks back to him and he frowns at her.

“You know I can do nothing for you now,” he says.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Andy says, “but look the other way.”

“Perhaps turn a few other heads until we get inside,” Quynh says.

The servant looks at her and visibly brightens. Nicolo must be wrong, but he swears his skin looks almost... blue.

“Ah, Quynh. Now, you, I’m happy to see.” He cracks his knuckles. “I suppose our prince could always use a bigger entourage.”

“Thank you, Genie,” Quynh says, smiling.

“You know how much I like to turn heads.”

Before Nicolo can ask what he means, Nicolo blinks and has moved. No longer in the shadows, the three of them are marching along in the parade. Surrounded by others of the prince’s guard and servants, they pass through the now-open gates of the palace and step inside.

*

Yusuf had been so close. He had felt the lamp in his hands. He had curled his fingers along the bronze that hummed in power. His revenge had been within reach.

Then he lost it. Taken by that fool Aladdin and disappeared once more into the Cave of Wonders.

Yusuf is not a broken man; he would never be broken again. But this setback knifes through him like a barbed insult. He needs time and patience to derive a new plan. He has neither.

Worse, now he has to entertain yet another of Princess Jasmine’s suitors, this time a young man from a country unknown. But the man has wealth, and wealth means power, so for now, Yusuf is silent.

This Prince Ali, it quickly appears, is a moron. He embarrasses himself with talk of yams and jams. The princess is unamused, and Yusuf is rather bored by the whole affair.

He looks over the offered displays of wealth with irritation and frustration. A prince like this has never known hardship. He has never suffered as Yusuf has. Golden statuettes, gems of every color, and...

“Nicolo?” he says, a gasp that draws the attention of the room.

“What were you saying, Jafar?” the Sultan asks.

It cannot be, and yet it is. The man – no, he’s not alone. Andromache and Quynh are there beside him. The _people_ Yusuf has dreamed about since Sherebad. Since the darkness. Since the hunger. They are _here_ , standing in the back of the room.

Andy, as Yusuf has heard her called in his dreams, and Quynh look from Nicolo to Yusuf and back again.

Nicolo stares at Yusuf with the those wide, bright eyes that have haunted Yusuf, both in dreams and the waking world. Buried in his chambers, Yusuf hides hundreds upon hundreds of drawings of this phantom’s face – the curve of his nose, the strength of his jaw. Those lips, parted for breath.

“Jafar?”

Yusuf looks away. He’s imagining things, and this is no place to lose his composure. “It is nothing, your Excellency. Forgive me.”

“Very well,” the Sultan says, and he speaks to the prince again, inviting him to their evening harvest celebration.

Yusuf stares at the ground until he no longer can, when the room is clearing and he must leave. He dares another glance, quick enough to see Andy push Nicolo into a hallway, Quynh following behind them.

When they are gone, he closes his eyes a moment and breathes. They are a dream, triggered now by his upset at losing the lamp. Nothing more.

He is in control.

Inhale. Exhale.

He restores his calm.

Then he turns and makes his plans. This prince has money and power. Yusuf will take both.

*

“He recognized me,” Nicolo says as he follows Andy’s lead to the prince’s servants’ chambers. His heart beats wildly in his chest, the lingering thrill of finally seeing his dreamer in the flesh.

“Yeah, yeah. Great.” Andy doesn’t seem as pleased. Quynh, either, who is frowning behind her.

“Did you see the staff?” Quynh says.

Andy nods. “It’s worse than we thought.” Sighing, she reaches for her axe. In a different language, barely familiar to Nicolo, not the one they practiced, she says, “We’ll have to kill him.”

“No!” Nicolo grabs her arm. He surprised himself, moving so quickly. Not her though. She slides her gaze evenly to him and lifts one lone brow.

“Let me try,” Nicolo says, pleading in his native tongue to be properly understood. He knows she speaks it. “Give me one day, and if I cannot convince him, we will do it your way.”

“It will take more than a day to change him,” Quynh says.

“Please.” Nicolo begs first one than the other. “He has never known kindness. Let me try.”

Quynh looks to Andy. When Andy closes her eyes, she laughs. “You mean to let him.”

“It’s those puppy eyes of his,” Andy says. “How do you say no?”

Quynh hums, “If they work on Andromache, perhaps they will work on Jafar.”

“That is not his name,” Nicolo says, having seen so in his dream. “Not truly.”

“It is the only name we know,” Quynh replies.

Andy sighs.

“One day,” Nicolo insists, knowing from the slant of her shoulders that he is winning. “That is all I ask for.”

“One day,” Andy says finally. She lifts her axe between them. “Then we do it my way.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jafar’s eyes snap open. They are a deep, entrancing brown, but too wide with a fear that rattles Nicolo’s insides. He needn’t be afraid. Nicolo would not hurt him.
> 
> Jafar grips his staff with both hands. “Begone from me, phantom.”

They are not given free reign, watched at every turn and corner. Nicolo wishes to sneak away but doesn’t, afraid to be caught and imprisoned. He won’t risk spending his one day in jail, not with the promise of seeing his dreamer tonight at the harvest celebration.

So he waits, as the other guards and servants do, though they are but illusions.

Andy takes a whetstone to her axe. Beside her, Quynh dozes.

Nicolo watches. He listens. He waits.

As the harsh sun sets, lamps are lit and music lifts into the air.

Nicolo turns to his companions, but Andy is asleep now too, head resting atop Quynh’s.

On his own, he walks into the hallway.

His nerves prickle, anxious but eager. The man of his dreams is more breathtaking in person than Nicolo had imagined, and his heart races at the thought of being near him again. He is pleased, as well, that though torment brews within his dreamer, he is otherwise physically healthy. He daily walks in sunshine. His skin is unblemished. His nails are well-manicured. He has access to food and drink.

Unlike when he was imprisoned, he is now safe from the world, if not from himself.

Nicolo will help him however he can.

Newly resolved, Nicolo lengthens his strides, following the sound of laughter and music. He turns a corner in time to see his dreamer leaning toward Prince Ali. The snake-eyes of his staff flash red. The prince seems enthralled.

Nicolo skids to a stop, startled. He is no stranger to the supernatural, not now as he is immortal, but he has never seen sorcery so openly practiced. Even Andy’s previous warnings had not been enough to prepare him for the sight of Jafar twisting the prince’s mind.

“Agrabah,” Andy said, one night as they trekked across the world to reach it, “is a magical place.”

Before Nicolo could find himself and act, the genie servant appears. He smoothly slides between Jafar and Prince Ali. With a smile, he leads the prince away, leaving Jafar behind, watching after them.

He is alone.

Nicolo takes a breath and his chance.

He steps forward one pace. After another, Jafar turns to face him. With one look at Nicolo, he closes his eyes.

“I have control,” he whispers. Then repeats, under his breath.

Worried, Nicolo steps again toward him. They are close now. It would not be impossible for Nicolo to raise his hand and place it on his dreamer’s shoulder. Not knowing if the touch would be welcome, however, Nicolo holds himself back.

Instead he asks, “Are you well?”

Jafar’s eyes snap open. They are a deep, entrancing brown, but too wide with a fear that rattles Nicolo’s insides. He needn’t be afraid. Nicolo would not hurt him.

Jafar grips his staff with both hands. “Begone from me, phantom.”

Nicolo glances behind him, to be certain there is no one there. No. They are alone. His dreamer is speaking to him.

“I am no phantom,” Nicolo says as gently as he can with the unfamiliar words. He has practiced, but he knows his accent is thick. He tries to speak slowly. Enunciate carefully.

He holds out his hand, stopping halfway between them. He will not touch without permission, but offers the option to Jafar with a tight nod. “I am real.”

Jafar looks at that offered hand, then up to Nicolo’s face. Agitation replaces fear, and his eyes narrow. “You must be a powerful sorcerer indeed to intrude upon my dreams.”

“We dream of each other until we meet.” Nicolo keeps his hand extended. He pleads with his whole heart for Jafar to understand. “We are the same.”

“Sorcerers.”

Nicolo shakes his head. “Immortals.”

Jafar leans back. His brows lift high. Nicolo has stunned him. He understands why.

“You are not alone.” Nicolo wishes he could touch him, even to hold his hand, so his dreamer could feel his truth beyond the words. “You will never be alone again.”

Jafar recovers himself quickly, face calming into a mask of apathy. Nicolo knows it is fake because, in their shared dreams, he has already felt the thunderstorm of raging emotion underneath. His dreamer is never as calm as he seems.

“Follow me,” Jafar says. He ignores Nicolo’s hand, stepping around it. “We should have this conversation in private.”

Nicolo steps into his shadow, following Jafar into a maze of hallways. The music grows softer. Wherever they are going, it is not to the harvest celebration.

Jafar nods to a set of guards, who let Nicolo pass with a curious glance. Another hallway leads to a narrow corridor, and then down, down, down deep into what Nicolo knows is a dungeon.

Jafar opens a heavy door and Nicolo follows him into a dark room of cages. Firelight flickers on hanging torches. Water must drip from somewhere, or is it fresh blood coating the floor?

Jafar leaves his staff leaning against the wall near the doorframe. As he turns, a dagger flashes in the orange glow of flame, and Nicolo knows he is about to be killed.

Jafar moves swiftly, and Nicolo, despite the longsword sheathed at his hip, does not defend himself.

The blade catches between Nicolo’s ribs and pierces upward into his heart.

Like this, his dreamer is so close. Even with hatred in his eyes, he is beautiful. In his final moments, Nicolo’s bleeding heart aches with pity for this man who does not know trust. Or hope. Or kindness. Or love.

With the last of his strength, Nicolo reaches his hand to cup his dreamer’s face. The blade cuts in deeper.

Through the blood in his mouth, he tries to speak. “You are not alone,” he says, unsure if the words are in his native tongue or this new learned one. He wants to try again, but cannot.

Only blood now.

Only darkness.

He slips to the floor and finds death.

*

Yusuf has killed before. He has slipped this same blade between the ribs of his former jailors and watched the life diminish from their eyes. He has stepped back and let them fall, useless heaps on the floor.

Never before has he dropped the knife in horror of his own actions. Never before has he crawled over the corpse and held their face in his hands. A face so familiar. A face Yusuf dreamed of, drew likenesses of, wished for and denied himself.

No.

Yusuf draws himself away from Nicolo. He is in control. This had to be done. Somehow Nicolo knew his secret, and that could not be allowed. If only he had truly been a phantom, then Yusuf could have kept him! But no, not like this.

Like this, he was a danger. And Yusuf will have no more setbacks in his designs for the throne.

He starts for the door. There is blood on his shoes. He will have to change before returning to the party. He reaches for the door handle, when a gasp erupts in the silence behind him.

Impossible.

_We dream of each other_ , Nicolo said. _We are the same._

But he had been lying.

Another gasp, and a cough. A shuffle of cloth over stone.

Yusuf, moving as if underwater, shifts to see.

On the ground, Nicolo has pulled himself to his knees. His clothes are sliced and bloody, but as Nicolo inspects, pulling the cloth apart with shaking fingers, the skin underneath has healed.

Yusuf cannot tear his eyes away. They _are_ the same.

Nicolo lifts his head. His eyes are bright with life and… _understanding._ How can he look like that, when Yusuf just killed him?

“If we… could talk.” Holding his chest, Nicolo pushes himself to his feet.

In a rush, Yusuf goes for his discarded dagger, breathing again only with it in his hands. He holds it between them, blade flashing. Perhaps he cannot permanently kill Nicolo, but he knows there’s pain in death. He can still use it to threaten.

“What do you want with me?” Yusuf demands.

“Nothing.”

“Lies.”

Nicolo’s hand drops away. His posture shifts, shoulders slouching in a show of guilt. He _was_ lying. Yusuf was right not to trust. He had learned this lesson long ago, but it still stings. Any small hope he had that Nicolo is genuine, now crushed. He steadies himself with this knowledge. The world he knows makes sense once more.

“I mean to save you,” Nicolo says.

Yusuf laughs. “I am Grand Vizier. I do not need saving.”

“No,” Nicolo says, words fast and desperate. “In the dreams, I have felt the pain inside of you. We were there, with you in that nightmare place. We dreamed of your jail cell every night for years, hoping for a clue of where you were. We did not know. We could not find you.”

“No one was with me there.” Anger spiked bright and hot, coiling around inside of him like a snake.

“We tried. If only we could have spoken!” Nicolo huffs out a breath of frustration that should deflate him but only seems to bring him new strength. “We could not save you then. From the death. The dark. The… pain. But I have felt as you feel, and I know it is not all hate within you.”

“You know nothing.”

“There is hope. I have felt it.”

Nicolo shuffles forward until the blade sits on his chest and Yusuf need only push.

“Kill me again. As many times as you need,” Nicolo says. “I will not leave you.”

Yusuf’s hands are steady. His breath is calm and even. But deep in his chest, his heart is burning.

“I will have my revenge,” he says, to remind himself of his purpose. His _only_ purpose. All others were stolen from him in that prison. “I will be the most powerful. I will _not_ be second.”

He will never be hungry. Never be cold. Never chew dirt in hopes of staying alive.

Life and death will be his to command. And he will crush all those who try to take it from him.

“You’re not,” Nicolo says.

Yusuf glares at him, ready to strike like a viper. He is powerful. He is –

“You are not second,” Nicolo says. “Not to me.”

Yusuf stills. His breath. His thoughts. His blade - cursed hands - begins to tremble.

Nicolo swallows. His eyes, so earnest they’re blinding, plead for something Yusuf’s not sure he has in him to give. Not anymore. Maybe never.

No. It’s –

“Jafar,” Nicolo says, so soft. It’s wrong, all wrong, on his tongue.

“That is not my name,” Yusuf says, to give as he has been given. He recoils in an instant.

Nicolo inches forward, and the blade is pressing into him now. Fresh blood drips down the side, over the handle, and onto Yusuf’s fingers.

It’s warm and Yusuf hates it.

Nicolo shouldn’t bleed.

“Yusuf,” Yusuf tells him, unbidden. He thought the word and it found his lips. He hadn’t meant to say it.

“Yusuf.” The corner of Nicolo’s mouth quirks up, an almost smile.

Yusuf stares. His shaking wedges the blade in deeper.

Nicolo places his hand over Yusuf’s on the handle of the dagger, smearing his own blood over Yusuf’s skin. “We belong to each other.”

Yusuf releases the dagger. Without the help of his weight, Nicolo stumbles backward. He falls to his knees. He’s dying again.

_You are not second_.

“I will have my revenge,” Yusuf says. His voice breaks.

_Not to me._

“You cannot stop me. No one will stop me.”

Even as Nicolo’s eyes dim, he watches Yusuf until he watches nothing. He slouches, and it is over.

After retrieving his staff, Yusuf grips the handle to the door and yanks it open. He locks it behind him. He tells the guards, “No one is to enter here.” And then he runs.

In his rooms, he changes and cleans. He wipes Nicolo’s blood from his hands.

He breathes steadily, regaining his calm.

Inhale. Exhale.

On the desk, one of his sketchbooks flutters open and a series of drawings take flight.

“No!” he gasps. He dashes through the room, snatching them from the air before they can be lost through the windows or over the balcony. On each, a likeness of Nicolo. The last, one of his smiles – so small and soft a thing. So precious. It’s not quite right, but the best Yusuf could recall from his dreams.

He should burn these, he decides, but conjures no flames.

He takes them back to the desk, to the sketchbook, and closes them once more inside.

If he were to stop...

No. He cannot let Nicolo distract him. Revenge is his life now. He will have it. He will find a way, and...

Beyond his window, a prince soars on a magic carpet.

*

Yusuf. His name is Yusuf.

It’s a victory. A small one, but a victory nonetheless.

Here, locked in the dungeon, Nicolo will take any victory he can.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here now. Hours, most likely. Maybe a day. The torches have burned low, only embers now.

Earlier, beyond the door, there had been shouting. A while ago, footsteps had thundered like every guard in the palace had been called. Once, the earth shook beneath him, rattling chains. A skeleton toppled.

Now, eerie silence.

Stopped only with a twin set of footsteps and a crash of a door, ripped down off its hinges.

“Times up,” Andy says, stepping through, toward him.

Nicolo holds up a hand, shielding his eyes from the brightness.

“We have to hurry,” Quynh says from the white haze behind Andy. “Jafar has the lamp.”

Absently, Nicolo tells them, “His name is Yusuf.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yusuf sits on a throne of gold, the bronze genie lamp in his hands. By his wish, he is now Sultan. Finally, he has achieved his goals. He waits for the feeling of satisfaction to take root.
> 
> It does not come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurred to me as I was working on this chapter that not everyone has seen the movie and/or may need a refresh. Pardon the slight exposition dump at the beginning, hopefully not too invasive!

“Tell me everything that has happened,” Nicolo says. Quynh hands him the canteen. He splashes water on his face, cleaning the blood.

“Before we arrived,” Andy tells him as they hurry down the winding hallways, “Yusuf tracked the location of the genie’s lamp to the Cave of Wonders, but wouldn’t go himself to retrieve it.”

“The cave is protected,” Quynh says, frowning. “Only one may enter here, the diamond in the rough.” She shakes her head, as if clearing away a memory.

A diamond in the rough? “But that’s him,” Nicolo says. “That’s Yusuf.”

“He wouldn’t risk himself.” Quynh glances at Andy. “I doubt he even thought to.”

“Our prince is a street thief named Aladdin,” Andy goes on. “Yusuf sent him into the Cave of Wonders to get the lamp. When he did, Yusuf tried to betray him, but lost the lamp in the process. Aladdin then used the lamp to become Prince Ali in an attempt to marry Princess Jasmine.”

“Things were going well, I suppose,” Quynh cut in. “Until Yusuf saw him flying on a magic carpet.” She sighs. “One that could only be found in the Cave of Wonders. He was able to put it together rather quickly after that. And it didn’t take long for our dreamer thief to steal the lamp from Aladdin.”

Nicolo nods. “Where is he now?”

“In the throne room,” Quynh says. “Probably wishing to be Sultan.”

_I will not be second._

“That won’t be enough,” Nicolo says. “He’s…”

“The plan is to separate him from the lamp by any means necessary.” Andy settles her grip on her battle axe. “No hesitation, Nicolo. He will regenerate.”

“I know this.”

Andy doesn’t bother looking at him. “How many times did he stab you? Your sword is still sheathed.”

Nicolo places a hand on the hilt of his longsword, sheathed at his hip. He had not even thought to use it in his defense, not against Yusuf. He would, though, to protect others. If he had to. “I almost convinced him. I could see in his eyes… If he knew he wasn’t alone…”

“That ship’s sailed,” Andy says.

“We’ll convince him once the temptation of the lamp is out of reach,” Quynh says, more gently. “We cannot let him hurt anyone.”

Nicolo nods, knowing what must be done while hating it. He will keep Yusuf from hurting others, but if he can do so without bloodshed…

They come to the doors of the throne room, and Andy takes point.

“Quynh, round the back. Nicolo, with me.”

They nod and take their positions.

Andy kicks open the door.

*

Yusuf sits on a throne of gold, the bronze genie lamp in his hands. By his wish, he is now Sultan. Finally, he has achieved his goals. He waits for the feeling of satisfaction to take root.

It does not come.

At his feet, the old Sultan kneels, his daughter beside him. The entire room gazes at Yusuf with terror, recognizing his potential at last.

Yet it is not enough. Not near enough. Something substantial is missing.

“Take them to the dungeons,” Yusuf commands of the guards, but they hesitate. The blatant disrespect ignites more darkness within him.

“Being Sultan is more than a name and a throne,” Jasmine says.

“More?” Yusuf eyes the lamp. He will be more, if needed. He will not stop until all the world trembles beneath his feet. Jasmine’s eyes challenge him, and he knows what he must do. Gripping the lamp, he stands and makes his second wish. “Genie. I wish to be the most powerful sorcerer in the world.”

“Wait!” The door to the throne room bursts open.

They are too late.

The genie emerges from the lamp in a plume of blue smoke and sparkles. He towers above them all, half man, half glitter and dust. Swirling his massive arms around, conjuring magic, he says, “As you wish.” Power bursts forth from him and into Yusuf.

The power, nearly too much, dances across his skin and between his fingers. He can feel the air shift as he wields it – as he lifts his hand and pulls Andromache’s breath from her lungs.

She’s already flung her axe. It catches Yusuf hard in the shoulder.

He steps back, surprise giving him pause. He loses focus and Andromache falls to her knees, huffing for breath.

With a thunderous cry, Yusuf rips the axe from his shoulder. The skin beneath stitches together faster than it ever has before, otherworldly regeneration strengthened with the magic coursing through his veins.

“I will not be stopped, Andromache,” Yusuf says, smiling as she glares at him. A man takes her under the arm and steadies her. Yusuf knows it is Nicolo but will not look at him.

From behind Yusuf, Quynh brings down a sword. The blade cuts his robes. Yet before it can reach his skin, he flicks his wrist, sending the blade one way, and Quynh the other. She hits a wall and falls.

“Quynh?” Andy calls.

Quynh coughs, and lifts herself to her elbows. “I’m here.”

Yusuf is so close, not only to his revenge, but to everything he has ever wanted. He has the power now, crackling at his fingertips. He could destroy not just the Sherebad prison where he was tortured, but all of Sherebad itself. Everyone who wronged him, and all those who did nothing while he suffered.

He need only strike.

“Yusuf.” Nicolo takes a step forward. The sound of the name from his lips is enough to splinter Yusuf’s concentration. His control slips, and he is frightened by the power within him that swells too hot, too quickly. He tampers down his emotions and fights to regain his hold over the darkness.

Nicolo is too close, too dangerous to be left alive.

Yusuf lifts a hand, and as he did with Andy, uses his magic to rip the air from his lungs. Anything to get him to stop talking. Clutching at his throat, Nicolo stumbles. Yusuf lets him hit the ground, does not lift his stranglehold.

Andy hurries to Nicolo’s side. “This will not stop us,” she says to Yusuf. “We’ll keep coming back.”

“Eventually, you’ll stop,” Yusuf tells her. No one came to help him, not when he struggled as a thief, not when he died again and again, forgotten in a prison cell, and not now as his bloodlust burns like a wildfire. His darkness overflows. His power devastates.

“No.” She tugs at Nicolo’s hands at his throat, but there is nothing underneath. Yusuf no longer needs physical contact to murder. “We will always come for you. You’re one of us.”

“I am no one’s.”

Andy lifts her gaze to his. Even with Nicolo dying at her feet, she radiates calm. Patience.

Yusuf wonders how many times she has died, for she seems so very old.

“You are family, Yusuf. And families do not abandon each other.”

Her words strike through him, a dagger between his ribs, and he releases his hold on Nicolo.

Nicolo sharply inhales.

Yusuf clutches the lamp to his chest. “I will be rid of you,” he vows, voice wavering, trembling like the fingers holding bronze. One wish left. He could end them. Permanently.

If they were gone… Without Andy’s patience... Without Nicolo...

Before he can think too much and convince himself not to, Yusuf rubs the lamp and wishes, “Genie. I wish for Andromache, Quynh, and Nicolo to not revive from their next death.”

Quynh pushes herself upright. “No.”

“That is old magic,” the genie says.

Yusuf glares at him. “Can it be done?”

The genie pauses, like he’s not sure.

“Do it!” Yusuf shouts. His wishes will not be denied. Nothing will stop him.

“As you wish, Master.” The genie moves his arms and though nothing is visible, Yusuf can feel the magic drain around him. He watches as Quynh, Andy, and Nicolo slump in unison.

Third wish completed, the genie shifts to smoke and disappears within the lamp. The bronze grows cold.

Nicolo recovers quickest. Breathing heavily, he pushes himself forward. He juts his chin up like a too-proud soldier. “This changes nothing.”

“Nicolo,” Andy says. It sounds like a warning, but he’s not listening, shuffling forward toward Yusuf.

“You fool,” Yusuf says. “I will kill you and you will die.”

Nicolo, damn him, starts to smile. So small. So soft. So tender, Yusuf’s heart twists. The smile he has dreamed of. The one he has drawn so many times, never quite capturing correctly. If he could watch Nicolo as he takes charcoal to parchment, have him in the flesh beside him and not the haze of a dream, perhaps he could recreate it to perfection.

“I will kill you,” Yusuf says, reminding himself what must be done.

Nicolo inches closer. “If that is what you want,” Nicolo says, “I will let you.”

Yusuf hates him. He hates him more than any man he’s ever met.

He hates him so much, he is totally enthralled by him. Those bright eyes, that smile, that voice, thick with accent, “I will save you.”

Yusuf is so enamored that he does not hear the soft pad of footsteps drawing near. He does not see the raising blade until it is reflected in Nicolo’s eyes.

He reaches out, his power everywhere and nowhere at once. It is too much. He has not learned to control it yet. It’s so hard to find one spec of a human among so many hundreds of thousands, even one so close.

Nicolo moves faster. He steps between Yusuf and the danger. Quynh cannot stop the blade before it slices into Nicolo’s back.

“No!” Yusuf cries. His power explodes, disappearing all in the room save Nicolo, Andy, Quynh, and himself, and reappearing them beyond the palace walls. It will take hours for them to break back in, if they even try.

He could have killed them. But in the moment, he didn’t.

The weapon clatters. Quynh covers her mouth with both hands and curses in a language not even Yusuf knows.

Yusuf catches Nicolo in his arms and eases him down to the floor of the throne room. Andy is there, behind him. She rips part of her tunic and holds it to the wound.

“Why would you do that?” Yusuf asks him. He brushes the hair from his forehead, smearing the sweat on his brow. Yusuf would have regenerated. He might not have even felt the blade.

“You…” Nicolo reaches his hand to the side of Yusuf’s face. His thumb brushes Yusuf’s cheek. “…deserve kindness.”

“I don’t,” Yusuf whispers, pressing his mouth and the words into Nicolo’s palm.

“You are… ours,” Nicolo says, strained. His hand begins to fall away. Yusuf catches it and keeps it.

“No, Nicolo,” Yusuf says. “I am _yours_.”

Nicolo smiles. “Say it again.”

“Keep your eyes open and I will say it every day.”

“Quynh,” Andy says. “The lamp. Hurry.”

Recovering herself, Quynh snatches the lamp up off the floor. Yusuf does not remember discarding it, but he must have dropped it when Nicolo fell. It matters little now. With his three wishes gone, the genie will not respond to him again.

“Genie, get out here,” Quynh says, voice hurried, anxious, and rubs the lamp.

Yusuf glances from Nicolo to Andy only long enough to ask, “Will you wish for my death?”

Andy rolls her eyes. “You don’t listen at all, do you?” To Nicolo, “Hang in there, Nicky.”

Nicolo’s eyes flutter closed.

“Hurry,” Yusuf doesn’t recognize himself, the way his voice breaks. The way he pleads. “Please, hurry.”

Genie magic fills the air, itching across his skin. His own magic, born in darkness, is useless. Already he feels it fading, no longer feasting on the hate within. For he holds no hate for Nicolo, or Andy, or even Quynh, who had meant the blade for him, knowing he would not die.

What good is this dark magic if it cannot save this man?

“Genie,” Quynh says. “Please return our gift.”

“Gladly,” the genie says.

Andy breathes deeply.

Nicolo’s eyes stay closed.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf says, shaking his shoulder. “Wake up.” His voice cracks. He has not cried since the prison, but his eyes are damp now. “Please, wake up.”

“Genie?” Quynh says.

“It’s too late,” Andy says for him.

“No.” Yusuf will not accept this. “Nicolo.” He shakes him again, rougher, but he does not wake.

“No!” Yusuf rushes to his feet, storms toward the towering genie. “You will fix this!” Genies are vast wells of cosmic power. If he cannot fix it, if Nicolo is truly dead...

The genie looks down at him, and though he is a prisoner shackled by lamps and wishes, he holds pity in his eyes. Pity for Yusuf.

He does not have to say the words aloud, for Yusuf feels them, knows them.

_This is your wish._

_This is your fault._

“I cannot return people who are already gone,” the genie says instead, and the whole world cracks.

Yusuf can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. The control he has so diligently practiced to withhold his emotions splinters down the middle, shattering. Hate is there, for himself. Grief, for what he lost before he even knew he had. Anger, at the world for taking from him again. Had he not given enough? Was he meant only to suffer for eternity?

The dark magic swells once more within him, a rage-filled fountain with no bottom. He will burn this world to ash. Not just Sherebad, but all of it. If Nicolo cannot live, no one will.

Quynh looks at him, and pity is there too. At the end of the world, only he, Andy, Quynh, and the genie will survive. Then maybe she will wish for his death. Maybe he’ll beg her to.

“Yusuf, please,” she says, but he does not listen, continuing to gather power. When he does not reply, she presses her palm to the side of the lamp. “Genie. Get rid of that dark magic, please.”

“As you wish.” The genie snaps his fingers.

The emotions remain, as torrential and hot as a sandstorm, but just like that, there is no magic behind them. Yusuf’s rage no longer offers destruction, except that of himself.

The sudden loss shocks through him, and before he can simply beg them to kill him and be done with it, he blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops there's one more chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness.
> 
> Then, suddenly –
> 
> Nicolo jerks upright and takes a breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind compliments and encouragements! :) Please enjoy the final chapter!

Darkness.

Then, suddenly –

Nicolo jerks upright and takes a breath.

Andy exhales from his left. “Took your time, Nicolo.” She offers him her hand and helps him to his feet.

Quynh is there next, touching his shoulder with one hand. She holds the lamp with the other. “I am sorry.”

Nicolo shakes his head. “There is no reason to apologize.”

Her lips press hard together, but she nods. He resolves to spend the next few years proving to her that he has no harsh feelings for her. But first...

“Yusuf?”

Quynh steps to the side.

Beyond her, Yusuf is on his back on the ground. Nicolo’s heart clenches like he might die again. He hurries to Yusuf’s side and pulls him half into his lap. He touches his fingers to Yusuf’s throat and feels his heart beating. His chest rises and falls gently with breath. Nicolo sighs in relief.

“His magic is gone,” Quynh says, approaching. “He might be angry when he wakes.”

Andy flashes her a knowing look. “I imagine it’ll depend on what he’s looking at.”

She replies with a soft smile.

Nicolo clutches at Yusuf’s robes and begs him to awaken.

Andy crosses the room and picks up her battle axe. Yusuf’s blood drips from the blade. “We have to get out of here before the guards find us. They’ll want Jafar to face justice.”

Protectiveness spikes, and Nicolo begins to turn Yusuf, to lift him in his arms. “They will not have him.”

“Which is why we’re leaving.”

Quynh taps her fingers against the lamp. “We have one more wish.”

Nicolo could not care less about wishes or genies. If he had his way, they would leave Agrabah far behind and deal with this magic no longer. Yusuf needs rest. He needs time to heal, to learn what it feels like to be safe and loved. In that, there is no need for magic.

Andy simply shrugs.

Quynh pauses a moment in thought, then rubs the lamp. “Genie,” she says, when he’s appeared. He’s not towering like before, looking as human as he did when he came to them in the alleyway. “When we’re gone, reveal yourself again to Aladdin.”

Genie smiles. “As you wish.”

Quynh places the lamp on the throne. When her hand pulls away, it disappears.

Nicolo stands, Yusuf held tight in his arms.

Andy tilts her head. “Let’s go.”

*

Yusuf feels a pain in the back of his neck. That is how he knows, before he even opens his eyes, that he is still alive. The sun is sweltering, and he is sweating in his robes. The world beneath him jostles, he must be in a cart, moving, tracking across the desert.

He opens his eyes.

Even with a bolt of linen covering the wagon, the sky is too bright. Groaning, he shields his face with his hand, and turns, burying his nose into the cloth pile beside him. The very sturdy cloth pile. The one that feels suspiciously like a shoulder.

He looks up, and into a pair of welcoming eyes, matched with a kind smile.

“You are awake,” Nicolo says.

“No,” Yusuf says, because he must be asleep or dead to see Nicolo now.

“You look awake.”

Yusuf clutches at Nicolo’s arm, afraid to let go, afraid to wake up. “I’m not.”

Nicolo’s smile slips, and Yusuf mourns its loss. He turns onto his side toward Yusuf, and rests his cheek in his palm. “Would it be so terrible?”

“The opposite.” Yusuf traces the length of Nicolo’s arm to his wrist, where he holds on tightly. “To wake without you would be a nightmare.”

“Yusuf,” Nicolo says, voice low, and the sound of it warms Yusuf’s cold, forgotten heart. “This is not a dream.”

Yusuf dare not hope, yet there are many signs he is awake. The pain, the heat. Could it be... He has done nothing to deserve it, but... “You... are alive?”

In answer, Nicolo guides the hand on his wrist toward his torso. He waits as Yusuf splays his fingers over his chest and feels the steady beat of his heart.

Closing his eyes, Yusuf counts the beats. He’s up to ninety-seven before he speaks again. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” Nicolo tells him, and makes it sound like a promise, not just for today but always.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf says, because that’s all he can say before Nicolo dips closer and kisses him. Nicolo grabs at his shoulder and keeps him there.

Years and years and lifetimes later, Joe plucks a book from the shelf of the library and flashes the cover at Nicky, who searches the stacks beside him. “Do you know the story of Aladdin and the lamp?”

Nicky offers him a hum and a smile. Joe has drawn that smile now, thousands of times. Sketchbooks upon sketchbooks upon sketchbooks litter each of their safe houses and apartments, Nicolo on each page.

“You know.” Nicky turns to him. Pressing his shoulder to the bookcase, he leans in toward Joe. “I much prefer the other tale.”

“Oh?” Joe returns the book to the shelf, knowing he is about to be kissed. His heart still flutters, even after all these years.

“The Sorcerer and the Knight,” Nicky says. His nose brushes Joe’s. Joe laughs against his lips.

“You are misremembering the title,” Joe tells him. He slides his hands up Nicky’s chest, coming to rest at his collarbone. “It’s really, a Man and His Love.”

Nicky presses their foreheads together. “My mistake.”

Joe, happy and loved and safe, kisses him.


End file.
